


The Complete Works of Gran Jones

by ThinkingCAPSLOCK



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-04-26 17:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5014015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThinkingCAPSLOCK/pseuds/ThinkingCAPSLOCK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gran Jones: archaeologist, LB mat hunter, loser. These are his stories. (Indiana Jones inspired)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gran Jones and the Raiders of the Lost LB Mats

The red crystal glitters in the thin shaft of light, a small rock standing out in the dark, deep temple. It shines on an otherwise nondescript pillar in the centre of the chamber. The room itself is large, the rocks covered in moss and vines and symbols Gran cannot read. He hovers his hands around the stone, his leather gloves creaking with the effort. He reaches to his belt and pulls out his premade sack of sand. 

He compares it, side by side, with the large red crystal limit break mat. He hefts the sand in his hand. There's no way he can remove it without replacing something of equal weight. He's already been through four booby traps. The deadly blowdarts, the piranha pit, the spiked floor, and worst of all, a rare encounter. How is he supposed to grind that?

With another examination of the large rock, Gran opens the bag of sand, sticking a hand in. He begins to grin as he takes a handful, and-

"Gran, this is _stupid_." Io's shrill voice cuts his concentration, and Gran feels the grin slip into a tight lipped straight line. Oh, how often had he heard _that_ on the way in. Gran, don't pull that suspicious wire. Gran, don't pet the fish. Gran, you're weak to earth monsters.

Why did he take Io with him again? He glances over his shoulder at her.

"You're never going to figure out the weight," Io continues, putting her hands on her hips. "I'm not sticking around for another rare encounter, Gran! I'm going to the entrance!"

Gran snorts, turning back to his precious mat. "Sure Io. I can get this part done _myself_." 

He hears a muffled scream of anguish from behind him, much like the noise she makes when there's no more peach ice cream in the freezer (which is also Gran's fault). He hears her feet storm down the hall and her punch a monster in the face instead of fighting it.

But she'll see. Once he gets a few more mats, he can limit break Barowa for the last time. That damn cow man has given him enough problems. No more bad jokes, no more forcing him into battle, no more smelly grass cud at dinner. Just the cold, damp darkness of the tavern Gran will ditch him in.

This time, there are no rude interruptions as he takes a fistful of sand out of his bag. And another. He compares it to the mat again, nods once to himself, and shifts his weight. He puts his hands in position.

One. Two. Three. 

In a fluid, practiced motion, he rolls the sandbag on at the exact time he rolls the mat into his hand. His eyes glitter as brightly as the crystal, and he feels the bubbles of a giggle rise in his throat. He did it. He did it! When Io sees, she'll regret calling him-

A large creak fills the air, the ceiling shuddering. Dust falls. Gran looks up, his eyes wide. The roof shifts above him. Behind what had looked like an innocent roof of stone is a large, solid rock, rounded and about five times Gran's size. The pale stone is splattered in what is probably dried blood, but Gran pretends it's a nice paint job. Nice. Pretty.

Oh, who the hell was he kidding, he was never going to guess the weight properly. He uses ever swear word he knows. The large rock gives another scraping howl as it begins to roll.

Gran runs. 

He dodges the rare encounter, the spikes, and the piranhas. At every turn, the rushing, rumbling noise of the giant rock obliterating everything behind him gives Gran that tiny bit of motivation he needs to keep his feet moving as fast as humanly possible, oh god, he will die if he stops. As he reaches the blowdart hallway, just one final turn away, he sees the large exit door (a slab of carved marble warning Gran specifically not to enter that he now wishes he'd listened to) closing before his very eyes.

He hefts up the ends of his scarf and adjusts his turban and _books it_.

He slides, dragging his turban and scarf in under him. Gravel digs into his shirt and the soft spot under his knees, like special knee-seeking gravel. He makes it into the clean, fresh air just seconds before the marble door slams closed and the rock careens into it, denting the white surface. He stares up at the sky, breathing heavily, and feeling the large red crystal on his chest as it rises and falls.

Despite everything, he's here. He did it.

He takes a deep breath, feeling the wind on his face, the birds chirping around him, the world becoming a little brighter and cleaner and lovelier. Barowa will be done with soon, and Gran will never have to speak to him again. It'll just be-

There's a shift in the air, and the weight is gone from his chest. He sits up, making grabby hands into the sky and turning his head around. That's when he sees her.

Blonde hair, smirking, the mat tucked under her arm like she had to outrun a boulder to get it. Her huge animal print cape billowing in the breeze. Weapons strapped to every inch of her. His moral enemy since kindergarten. _Djeeta_.

"Thanks for all your hard work, _Gran_ ," she says, her words saying 'Gran' but her tone saying 'loser'. "I think you forgot that you have to get permission to use this mat from here, permission that I have and you, of course, never bothered to get."

Her laugh is the taunting noise promises to haunt his nightmares for the next six years. Gran scrambles to his feet, a retort forming in his throat, but Romeo and one of the eight billion cow ladies Djeeta has in her party block him. He lunges again, but this time Io grabs him around the waist and digs her tiny little nails into the soft spots below his armpits. He yelps.

The awful laugh sounds again and the three people disappear into the jungle, as the world yet again dims to the colour of awful, no-Barowa-LB-mat it was when he entered the temple six hours ago.

As his shoulders begin to slump, his knees buckling out of the sheer sorrow, the sheer audacity that Sierokarte had once again forgotten to mention something critical like, he didn't know, asking for permission for a mat, is just too much. He's done.

Io jams her tiny monkey hands into his sides again. "Come on Gran, let's go home. I'm not dragging you there!"

Five minutes later, she drags him along the forest floor towards the airship.

-

"My, my, that is quite the a sad story," Rosetta says, smiling around her tea cup and in no fashion upset by the traumatic event Gran had just described to her in great, non-exaggerated detail. He would have told someone else, but Rosetta was the only one around the ship when he got in (besides Io, who huffed more and yelled something _very_ rude and unlady like through the door of her cabin). 

Still, Gran isn't impressed, and he lets her know. "I'm not impressed," he says. "You don't seem very sad."

"Well, I'm not," she replies, draining her cup and placing it on the saucer without even a tink of noise. "Gran, you really ought to check these things out before you head out. You know how forgetful Sierokarte is. This isn't unusual for them."

Gran crosses his arms on his chest and leans back on his chair, frowning so deeply he may have to pick the corners of his mouth off the floor later. He glares at her as she nibbles at her eighth cookie since he started talking. When she's cleaned her mouth and reapplies her lipstick, she speaks again.

"You know, my father once entrusted me with a legend of some lost LB mats," she says.

In a heartbeat Gran's on his feet, leaning against the table. "My father? He told you?"

"No, Gran, _my_ father."

"But my father..." Gran turns his head away, clenching a fist that he slams into his table. His body aches with tension. "My father's the one-"

"Gran, please shut up," Rosetta says, that terrible smile on her face and her words cold enough to make Gran shudder and the cookies freeze over. He'd come back to his plot-related father angst. She couldn't put it off forever. _No one could_.

"He once gave me something he said would lead to great riches of Fire LB mats," she reaches into her cleavage as she speaks, and from some mysterious pocket, she draws a circular gold amulet covered in strange marks. "I, of course, had no use for it, and had forgotten about it until you told me this lovely... story."

Gran takes it from her and turns it over in his hands. It's very warm, and he feels a tiny bit embarrassed, but he tries to focus on how the markings make no sense. Like, he is pretty sure they are less "markings" and more "it fell one too many times on the floor."

Yeah, there is no way he has any idea what it says. He hands it back over with a confused expression.

"How is this supposed to help?" he asks, his voice flat. "Some weird magic? Would Lyria be able to use it?"

"It's written in the ancient language of the people of the Deus Ex Machina," Rosetta replies. "It's a language even I have yet to learn, long lost to the people of our age. I doubt Lyria would know more of it than I, clever as she is."

With a scratch of his head, Gran goes to sit back down. He misses, flails for an endless second, caught between free fall and the abyss. The moment ends and he bashes his skull through spine down on the airship floor with a cry of pain, knocking the chair over behind him. The turban does nothing to lessen the impact, and he finds his arms tangled in his scarf.

Rosetta eats another cookie. Ass.

Lying on the floor staring at the ceiling, Gran wonders what to do. There's a slow nagging sensation at the edge of his mind that he can't quite place. At first he thinks its his oncoming concussion, but it doesn't quite feel the same. An ancient language. He needs those LB mats. But how is he going to solve the puzzle?

Maybe... just maybe...

"You said it was an ancient language, right Rosetta?"

"Thousands of years old, yes."

"So we just need to find someone old enough to translate."

As he props himself up on his elbows, Rosetta gives him a pitying stare. But Gran already knows exactly who they need to ask.

\- 

" _I'm_ the oldest person you know?" cries Oigen. "I'm not even that old!"

"Ok, sure," says Gran, knowing for a fact Oigen is Extremely Old and lying about it, "but can you read the language?" 

Oigen stares at the disc, and then rubs his nose. "Well, yes." 

Gran claps his hands twice, sits down on the chair in Oigen's room, and waits. He'd already had to wait for Oigen to come back to his room from the port where he had been buying copious bananas. Rosetta perches behind him on the desk, picking dirt out from under her nails with an incredibly long dagger.

Something about Oigen's room smells off. Gran sniffs, constantly, until Rosetta offers him a tissue. He declines. The smell is still there and he can't _quite_ place it, so he wonders if Oigen has a thousand year old dirty sock somewhere on the floor. Deus Ex Sockina. He sniggers to himself. Classic Gran.

Oigen sits on the bed, a notebook on his lap, studying the amulet in the light. It takes him forever before he even writes one letter down on the paper. And then he stares pensively at the bowl of dates on his bedside table. Gran buries his face in his hands and groans.

In his boredom, he borrows Rosetta's dagger and cleans his own nails, then starts carving "Gran wuz here" into Oigen's chair. Rosetta, meanwhile, pulls out a hairbrush that was strapped to her leg (Gran wonders how long she's kept it there) and proceeds to brush her hair. She hums the same four notes over, and over, until Gran is carving "Gran died here" right underneath.

"I'm done!" Oigen announces. Gran checks the clock. Had years gone by? Decades?

It's only been eight minutes. Well, then.

Oigen brings around the notebook, with a ginormous page of text, as he thumbs another eight pages (all full). Gran feels his eyes go wide and sees Rosetta's do the same. The old man clears his throat and begins to read.

"When the sun hangs low in the eighth week of the warmest season, on the day of the blooming water lilies, travel to the Red Desert and fly due north starting at the rock of Ancient Ways. Travel until you reach the Cave of Coral, where you must land your ship after spinning it thrice both ways. Then, the youngest of your crew must depart, and do the Hokey Pokey. Once that is complete, three drops of goat blood must-"

"What the _hell_?" Gran yells. He leaps to his feet, knocking over the chair and dagger. "And it goes on for _pages_?!" 

Oigen nods. "We need to bring Welder, too, there's this part about finding the oldest maple and drinking its sap until the watchful gaze of the yellow bellied sap suckers, and-"

"Where does this fit on the amulet, exactly? It's like five inches wide!" Gran grabs it and stares. What the hell was up with the language? Why did it exist? Holy shit, he has no idea what a yellow bellied sap sucker is!

He takes a deep, long breath, and wrinkles his nose again at the weird smell in Oigen's room. There's no choice. It's for LB mats. He says this to himself for a solid minute. Rosetta takes the amulet from him and begins to study it on her own. He slaps his cheeks to get focused, and focuses on Oigen.

"Can you make me an itemized list of everything we need?" asks Gran, his words mangled by his own hands still smushing his cheeks.

Oigen wipes a grimy hand on his pants before he shrugs a shoulder. "Sure, I guess, but we only have two weeks until-"

"What about the back?" Rosetta asks.

"It has a back?" Oigen replies, picking something in his beard.

Gran's world freezes.

There was more. There was more that he could have missed, and Gran would have spent hours and days tracking something they didn't have full information on. Oigen would have become the new Sierokarte of bad mistakes proving fatal.

This is Oigen's biggest mistake since wearing that pink tie with a white suit to Catalina's birthday. Gran's back stiffens. He feels a puppet smile dart across his face as he stares down Oigen. The old man shudders, then visibly wilts, and as Gran refuses to blink, Oigen mumbles an "I'm sorry".

"Please," Gran says, his voice straining in his neck to keep from launching out, becoming sentient and gaining mass, and decking Oigen, "translate the _entire amulet_."

In a single second, Oigen has the amulet in hand, and the notebook in the other. His eye works furiously back and forth and his chicken scratches appear one after the other in the book. Gran never blinks. Never wavers. He is not letting a single detail slip his mind on this quest.

Oigen blinks a few times (perhaps to make up for Gran's eyes, which are getting a bit dry) and then clears his throat.

Rosetta starts brushing her hair again. Does she never get tired of it? "What does it say, Oigen? I'd hate for us to miss a detail," she says, and gives a small laugh. "Gran already knows the problems with not getting all the details in order."

Gran thinks if he tries to speak again his mind will go blank and he'll wake up hours later after throttling Oigen to death, and then glaring down Rosetta, so he stays quiet.

"It says 'Just kidding, dig here' and then gives the latitude and longitude," Oigen whispers. He then holds his hands in front of his face.

Gran blinks. Once. Twice. From between his lips a gurgle bubbles, and then pops into loud laughter. He doubles over. He clutches his gut. He collapses to the ground, kicking his legs as tears pour out from his eyes as he laughs. Oh, yes. Yes. _Perfect_.

It takes Rosetta hauling him by the scarf for him to stop laughing and clear his throat. He claps his hands again.

"The three of us can set out. I know where that location is, I harvested orbs from there last week," Gran says. "I'll go get my Water Gun and the three of us can head out."

"Shouldn't we take Io?" Oigen asks. "Get a full party?"

"Io won't speak to Gran right now," Rosetta says. "She called him a stupid-"

"Leeeeet's just focus on getting prepared and heading out," Gran says. He stretches himself out and his stomach gives a rumble. He frowns, reaching for one of those dates in Oigen's bowl, since the man had otherwise been useless. May as well get some food out of it.

Oigen's hand shoots out in probably the fastest movement Oigen has made since turning fifty to grab Gran's wrist. Gran prepares to launch into his 5th rendition of "Oigen, I told you never to touch me again", when Oigen points an ancient finger towards a corner of the room.

"Bad dates," he mutters. Gran follows his finger to a dead monkey lying in the corner, a date in its hand. 

"Well, that explains the smell," Rosetta says.

-

There are many things in Gran's life he is never doing again.

Trusting Drunk is the first thing on the list. Then taking Io with him to find LB mats. Somewhere up there tied is existing with Welder, that ghost island, and walking in on a Vira-Rosetta-Catalina slumber party trying to find where he lost his brand new light axe. He could still feel their death glares.

But digging in forty degree heat with Oigen is _right up there now too_.

Three hours ago, Gran had thought, hey, digging in sand won't be so bad. They had the exact location. But six feet into the ground, he was beginning to feel the drag. Oigen's sweat smells like it comes from the wrong side of a horse that just rolled in camel dung. It pours off in buckets, making the otherwise sandy dirt they're digging through muddy around his feet. At one point he took off his shirt, but Rosetta and Gran both nearly threw up, and he quickly put it back on with a grumble. Even his antenna hairs droop, weighed down by sweat.

Gran digs his shovel into the sand again, trying not to breathe as the wind wafts the eau de stinky man around his face. He himself had taken off his thick leather gloves and scarf. Even the giant belts he had were on the ground above the hole. It was _hot_.

"Oigen, can you like, go apply more deodorant?" Gran asks.

"For the seventh time, Gran, I didn't bring it," he replies. "Though if Rosetta would loan me hers..."

Rosetta, changed into a practical outfit of pants, boots, and a 30,000-coin shawl, peers over the edge of her sunglasses as she leans on her shovel. "I don't have any," she says, reaching into her boot and removing deodorant. She rubs it under her arms. "Sorry."

Oigen groans and Gran wrinkles his nose. The dead monkey had smelt better.

"It's for the mats," Gran whispers to himself, digging his shovel in. "For the mats."

Oigen shuffles nearer, which is the last thing Gran wants. "Hey, Gran, isn't Rosetta really good looking when she's digging?"

A shovelful of dirt "accidently" flies from Rosetta's shovel into the back of Oigen's head. Gran give her the thumbs up before digging his shovel into the pile of sweat that flew off Oigen's forehead.

The most blessed noise Gran has ever heard sounds out. Not the weird flop of metal on sand, but the ringing ding of metal on metal. Instantly, Rosetta's helping him dig towards it, unearthing the large chest as they go. Oigen staggers against the far wall of the hole, wiping sweat soaked dirt out of the back of his shirt and his hair. 

It's only a matter of minutes before the top of the chest is visible. It's ancient, solid metal. The edges are designed with birds, and it's stained gold and red. A large intricate lock keeps it closed. It's as long as Gran is tall and half as wide.

This is it. He can practically taste the LB mats sitting within, and has to stop himself from throwing his arms around the chest in glee. Instead, he taps the top, strokes one of the birds. All his prayers, answered, and only one more thing in the way. He spends a minute fumbling over the lock before Rosetta grabs him by the back of the shirt.

"Just let me do it," she says. Gran shifts back, and Rosetta immediately brings down her shovel point on the lock with enough force to break the lock and drive the shovel two feet into the sand in front of the chest.

"Oh my god!" Gran yells, flailing back. Oigen makes a gurgled scream. Rosetta flicks a piece of hair out of her eyes and hauls the top off the chest. 

Like everything potentially good in Gran's life, this ends in disaster.

A dark vapour immediately fills the air, blocking out the sun and turning the air stagnant with Oigen's sweat. Then a bright, white light shoots out in a pillar. A cackle evil enough to rival Djeeta's reaches Gran's ears. He ducks behind Rosetta, peeking out.

There's a strange humanoid shape forming from the vapour and the light. Its fingers are long and clawlike, the head a ball of morphing light and darkness. A large mouth cracks open along it, revealing razor sharp teeth dripping with darkness. The strange creature exhales heat and darkness and Oigen gags.

It towers over them: six, seven, eight feet tall. Gran goes for his gun, belatedly realizing it was stuffed in the belt, left at the top of the hole. Lightning crackles around them and he tugs the turban tighter around his head. There's a large thunk as Oigen faints dead away, landing face down on his own shovel.

Rosetta meets Gran's eyes, then looks over his head (at what Gran prays is Oigen's corpse), sighs, and shrugs her shawl into Gran's face. He sputters, and by the time he can see something other than its admittedly very well done stitching, Rosetta is in front of the unholy Satan spawn they have summoned.

She's a small figure against the lightning born devil. Her head barely reaches its abdomen now. She clenches a fist, pulls it back, and punches it square in the gut above her head.

A horrible screaming fills the air as the creature folds in on itself, black vapour evaporating from its body, blood gushing down into the ground where it stood. Its clawed hands flail, then, along with the rest of it, fade into nothing. The sky clears up. Gran finds his jaw falling down so quickly he might get whiplash, his hands clenching the shawl like it's the LB mats he's after. Rosetta flicks her hair, shakes out her hand, and smiles.

"Come now, Gran, you didn't do all this digging to let me pull out these mats," she calls. Gran throws the shawl over his own shoulders and stumbles forwards, his knees numb and shaking. The mats are there. The unspeakable evil died with a gut punch from Rosetta's manicured hands. How did she know that would even work? He opens his mouth to ask, but then remembers why he's here. He can take the mats.

He collapses in front of the box, shuffling the last few inches on his knees. This is it. This is his final moment, the biggest chance. His freedom. His salvation. He looks down into the box.

Staring up at him are limitless materials. The chest is overflowing with them. Books, scrolls, orbs, dragon scales in the dozens.

Every single one is a light mat.

Desperate, he digs his hands in, pulling them out one at a time. Light book. Light scroll. A giant pillar of light. A cockroach (he screams and throws it into the sands). By the time he hits the bottom of the chest, his heart pounds hard in his throat. There's nothing. Nothing in the entire chest to help him. Nothing in the entire _world_ can help him.

When Gran opens his mouth next, it's to let out a great, heaving sob.

-

Gran does his very best to pretend his eyes are _not_ swollen and red as he stands besides Sierokarte in the storage building. This is hard to do, as his face is taught and dry, his hands clammy, and his nose still running enough for him to keep having to blow it. Sierokarte instructs a large cow man to lift the chest onto his shoulders.

Sierokarte turns to Gran, their face so small, so punchable, and too happy. "Thanks for this Gran! I am sorry none of your recent hunts worked out."

Gran glares physical fire daggers, a trick he learned off Vira. "Then why didn't you tell me about the-"

"Haha!" Sierokarte's forced laughter cuts him off, and Gran blows his nose. Sierokarte's forehead breaks into a sweat and they turn their back to Gran, surveying the storage room as they kick the daggers away. It's lined, floor to ceiling, with crates, weapons, boxes, you name it.

"So, er, we're happy to hold these mats for you!" Sierokarte continues, scratching their head. "No one else will ever find them here, I guarantee!"

The cow man begins to walk away, and Gran feels a bubble forming in his throat. He swallows, but it returns as a lump. His vision blurs. His hand shake. He's clinging to the cow man's waist, sobbing, before he even realizes he's moved.

"Keep them safe!" he gasps out. "My mats... why can't they be fire mats? Why?! Why!!"

The cow man starts walking, dragging Gran along the ground as he goes. Sierokarte follows along side, chatting away about how secure their storage facility is. They keep patting Gran's back, but it doesn't ease his sobs or assuage his sadness. Gran is hauled into the depths of the storage facility, all the while wondering if he will ever, _ever_ have someone to use these on.

"Gran, will you let go of my employee?"  
  
"NEVER."

[THE END PART ONE]


	2. Gran Jones and the Casino of Doom

Catalina does not like it here at _all_. 

She stands well back of the casino entrance, arms crossed on her chest, gazing at the neon sign flashing yellow and green every two seconds. The electricity needed for it alone is probably enough to power their ship for the next eon. The building itself is brick red, but every inch is covered in wiring or another sign. A thick cloud of smoke, some cigarette, some from fires, and some Catalina doesn't want to know the origins of, hovers just barely the legal distance away from the doors and road. A huge crowd of every race mulls around, broken bottles and discarded wind pistols everywhere.

Gran stands beside her, dressed in his Superstar best, clutching a bag of casino chips half his weight in his scrawny arms. He shakes, and his knees have been half buckled for the past mile, but he's flat out refused any aid. Catalina's offered every other breath since they left to no avail. Lyria, beyond him, is looking around a bit too curiously, her eyes wide and excited.

"I told you we could walk the distance," Gran huffs, his voice high pitched and screechy from strain. "It only took what, five, six hours? Nice workout. Leg day today."

"Gran, it's been twenty minutes since we left," Catalina replies. "We would have been here in five if you'd let me help you."

Gran whimpers, covering it with a cough. In the not so far distance, Catalina sees two men get into a drunken brawl, and a group of six women start a spitting competition. She has to clamp her hands on her arms to avoid reaching out and covering Lyria's eyes.

"Do we really get to go in there, Gran?" Lyria asks. She hovers on the balls of her feet and is far too interested in the spitting competition. "We've never been to this casino before!"

"Sierokarte said that the job was to reacquire the lost stones," Gran says, shifting the bag in his arms a bit. "And this is their last known location."

Someone coughs so hard in the cloud of smoke they double over and collapse. Lyria and Gran both look more excited. Catalina feels her face pale.

"Gran..." she starts.

"Not _again_ Catalina!" Gran's indignant anger is lessened by his struggle to keep the bag in his arms. "You've complained about this job every second since we left!"

Untrue, as she'd been busy offering to carry the bag. "I just don't feel like this is a safe mission for us to be taking," she replies.

"We need the money they're offering. I can't afford to LB anyone even though I have the mats. It's ridiculous! And monsters only carry what, 20 golds in their pockets? They're poorer than I am. We had _absolutely no choice_ picking this job up."

"But-"

"We aren't leaving until we find out where those stones are, even if I have to gamble _all day._ "

Gran's eyes are so intent on the building, so full of dark glee, that Catalina has a very sneaking suspicion that there was a very _large_ choice picking this mission up. She knew there had been a reason Gran had gone alone to pick it. She moves her one hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes. She's here because she's a caring, concerned person, she tells herself. She's here because Lyria insisted on seeing the new casino with her own eyes and Gran won't change out of Superstar until he's mastered it, rendering him useless.

When she opens her eyes again, Gran's waddling down the path five feet ahead, Lyria skipping at his side. Catalina takes four huge strides to catch up. Here, twenty feet from the front doors, is her last chance to save them.

"Gran, I really must insist we reconsider," she says. Gran grunts, but can't move away quickly enough to avoid her speech. "Gran, the rumours alone... you've already seen the fights this place is infamous for. They say that for every fight, the population of the casino goes down by four, even if only two people are involved. They say the owner owns a suit so hideous that it's caused people to die on the spot. Another that it's build entirely over an old mine where the gold dried up, leaving only treacherous mine carts. And there's a dormant volcano, wherein they rip out people's still beating hearts from their chest and-"

"Catalina, that's just ridiculous," Gran says. "No clothing is so ugly it causes people to die."

Catalina gives a short, humourless laugh, her eyes wide with shock. " _That's_ the rumour you choose to focus on?!"

"Um!" Lyria's voice carries a waver to it, and Catalina crosses behind Gran to stand beside her. The girl's hands are balled into fists in her dress, and she tries to avoid biting her lip. "Is that all true? Are we going to die here?"

Catalina immediately regrets every word she's just said. Great work Catalina. She puts an arm around Lyria's shoulders, bending down a little as they walk. "No, Lyria, we won't die here. I just don't think it's safe."

"But you can protect us, right?" Lyria's eyes are huge, brimmed with a mix of fear and hope, and Catalina finds herself smiling.

"Of course I can protect you," she says. "Haven't I always?"

"Yay!" Lyria shrugs out of Catalina's one-armed embrace, dashes forwards ahead of Gran, and throws the door open for him. Catalina's jaw drops and her hand flies out, but it's too late. Gran's half run, half waddle gets him the remainder of the way, though his bag is so awkward it takes him a solid minute to shuffle in the door.

Catalina stands frozen in place, her arm still outstretched to thin air. The bobbing blue hair of Lyria begins to fade, and Catalina throws herself headfirst into the Casino of Doom.

-

The interior is not much better than the exterior for level of smoke or neon, despite all the laws. There's still the ever-persisting problem of the other patrons, most of whom look (and smell) like they haven't left, well, ever. Catalina has to be careful to step over a middle-aged cow man, passed out asleep just within the entrance as she keeps pace with Gran and Lyria.

The sounds of smooth jazz and the low hum of machines and chat and dice on tables fill the air. Occasionally, a laugh breaks out, or the telltale clink of a loogie hitting a spittoon echoes over the other sounds. More than ever, Catalina wants out. But maybe if they can just quickly find the stones, they can-

"Point me in the direction of the luckiest slot of the day," Gran says, dumping his bag on the floor in front of a casino worker. The worker flinches as the floor shakes. "I have some _seriously_ important business here."

"Gran," Catalina starts, "we're not gambling, we're-"

"Catalina, look!" Lyria tugs her arm, pointing. Dutifully, Catalina turns, and pales. A tattoo-covered woman sits cross legged at a poker table, grinning from ear to ear as she twirls a knife in her hand. With the final catch, she licks it and winks. "Do you think she'd teach me to do that?"

"I don't think that's safe to learn, Lyria," Catalina replies, placing her hands on Lyria's shoulders and steering her towards the wall, far, far away from the tattooed woman. Once there, Catalina turns, seeing Gran hunker down in front of a hideously grimy slot machine. He cracks his knuckles and stretches his arms, and then slouches enough to wrinkle his entire jacket as he pulls the lever.

As she takes a step to remind Gran, again, why they're here, Lyria pushes past her with a laugh. "Catalina, they have dogs here! Can we go see the dogs?"

"Lyria, those aren't the right kind of dogs!"

But she's dodging between patrons like she was born to this life, and Catalina glances once more at the blob that is Gran's form melting into the slot machine. She hesitates, sees Lyria petting a dog meant for racing, or worse, with foam dripping from its mouth and muscles the size of Lyria's head.

Catalina decides Gran can look after himself for _one_ minute. She rushes over and wipes flecks of foam from Lyria's face as the dog licks her.

When Catalina returns gently holding Lyria's hand in forty three seconds, Gran's gone.

Not 'moved an aisle over' gone or 'collapsed on the floor' gone. Vanished. Not a trace of his sweaty hands or his lumbering, petite frame. She can't imagine he moved quickly with his bag, but it seems he must have, as she can't spot a waddling figure through the smoke or neon signs. She squeezes Lyria's hand.

"We're going to go look for Gran, alright?" she says.

Lyria uses her free hand to give a thumbs up. "Can we try the snacks at the bar over there?"

"We shouldn't-"

"I'm _hungry_!"

Two minutes later and with a large bag of nuts under their belts, Catalina and Lyria start looking for Gran.

In between the remaining almonds and cashews in their hands, Catalina and Lyria check the sixteen rows of slot machines, witnessing two tiny wins and a whole bunch of sad, angry losses. Gran is nowhere to be seen. Nor is he at any of the poker tables (surprising), or trying to con the exchange clerk into giving him free items (also surprising), or the women's washroom (Lyria needed to clean her face).

Each table and room without Gran makes Catalina's mouth tighten into an even thinner line. How are she and Lyria supposed to find stones they don't know the appearance of, or any details on? Why did Gran bother with a mission to cover his obvious need to gamble away his life's savings? How _had_ he moved so fast with that large-

As she and Lyria turn towards the Bingo area, she hears it. A high pitched, squeaky, cocky laugh, ending with a small choking noise. There's only one man alive who can't laugh properly.

Gran's on his feet, shaking his Bingo card in the air, barely visible through a remarkably thick cloud of smoke. He's sitting directly under a green neon light, giving him a sickly appearance, and totally clashing with his suit. "That's 100,000 coins for me!" he yells. "One-friggin-hundred-k!"

Catalina clenches her teeth so hard she fears she'll shatter her teeth. They're supposed to be doing a mission. Or, at least, they'll be in trouble if they don't. Catalina doesn't like to let people down, especially over something like this. Certainly they shouldn't be shoveling untold riches of coins into a new bag. When Gran turns around, she's going to give him the sternest look she can (a well practiced glare).

Like everything potentially good in Gran's life, this ends in disaster. 

At one of the tables, a man stands, uses the spittoon (Lyria cheers), puts his cigarette out on his hands (Lyria gasps), and crosses his arms.

"Ye cheated," he growls.

Gran blinks. "Cheated? I don't cheat."

"Are ye callin' me a liar, then?"

A few people at the smoking man's table stand. One cracks knuckles the size of Lyria's head. Gran doesn't even look concerned as he shoves his winnings in the bag.

When the man pulls out a knife, Catalina realizes, she's going to have to be the one to save him. Again.

"Gran, _run!_ " she yells. She draws her sword, dropping Lyria's hand with a nod, and rushes the smoking man just as he brandishes his knife. The weapons ring.

The entire room breaks out in a fight. From the corner of her eye, Catalina sees two humans light each other on the fire at the same time. A cow woman suplexes the entire dessert bar over her head. Lyria summons an unholy demon to punch a casino worker carrying a bottle of wine. Catalina finishes her opponent off, then another, and then casts her eyes around for the person she's _really_ angry at.

Gran's hair peeks out from behind the large table he's flipped in front of him on the other side of the room. She ducks under flying arrows and narrowly avoids a chestplate that's thrown at her head as she crosses the distance, her eyes glowing with rage. Gran's counting the coins in his bag as he looks up, and he has the gall to not even look guilty.

"I'm short three hundred, you know. They didn't give me them all."

Stifling a groan, Catalina hauls Gran and his bag up into the air one handed by the scruff of his collar. "Gran, we are _leaving_ , and then we are regrouping to get those stones."

She moves him in the air as a bottle of vodka whizzes by, but she doesn't break eye contact or let him go. Gran recoils as much as he can as his face pales. "Yes, ma'am."

She puts him on the ground, brushes off his shirt, and nods. "Follow me." 

With Gran humming buffs in her ear and his bag tightly in his arms, Catalina cuts her way to Lyria, who looks exhausted after a third summon. The fight rages around them, and Catalina blocks more swords, more guns, and a cat someone throws (though she catches that one in her arms and sets it down on a chair). Someone breaks a neon sign and Catalina shields herself and Lyria under her cloak. Between the smoke (now including the smoke of burning signs) she spots the exit.

"This way!" she yells, grabbing Lyria's wrist and running. She parries a staff and slips around two tattooed humans. She slips through the exit, into a completely calm, regularly smoky slot machine room. The sounds of the fight echo behind them, but none of the people at the slots even look up when they burst in.

She takes deep breaths, bending over with her hands on her knees. Lyria rubs her back for a moment.

"Catalina, you were amazing in there!" she says. Catalina turns to catch her beaming. "I can't believe how cool you are!"

Catalina feels her cheeks begin to heat up, and she gives a small crooked smile. "Well, thank you, but I-"

With a shiver that runs the course of her body, Catalina straightens. She squeezes her eyes shut. She turns her head just enough just to glance over her shoulder, and opens them.

Gran, instead of standing just behind her, doubled over from exhaustion at running twenty steps holding a bag, is being carried off by six people, struggling and screaming, into a dark alcove behind the now broken dessert bar. He catches her eye, flails his arm, and yells her name, before the darkness swallows him.

Well, shit.

\- 

It's not enough that Gran was kidnapped and taken down a secret passage way. Catalina would be so lucky if it was _only_ that.

Catalina enjoys being right as much as the next person, but this is one thing she would have preferred to be wrong about. It's not just that the path leads down in ancient lava tunnels to the large interior of a dormant volcano. She and Lyria set up position near the top of the path in a rocky area, looking down at a large stage like area between two large hills. She'd hidden the large amount of coins in the crook between two of those rocks as well, hidden from plain sight, much like they are.

The dormant volcano is one thing, and alone, manageable. But no. It would be too easy if only one rumour was true.

Gran is strapped to a wooden bed that's propped near vertical. His face is one of complete annoyance, and he keeps staring at his suit jacket, probably thinking about how he'll have to iron it if Catalina can read his expression correctly. The tattooed woman from before stands near him, loudly talking to a group of people in black capes and hoods. Her speech began five minutes before with no end in sight.

"My brethren!" she announces. "Do not forget how we have been blessed with our sacrifice! Gran Jones has come to us, and his heart will appease the great volcano!"

Yeah, they were _totally_ about to cut out his still beating heart. Perfect. 

"Catalina?" Lyria whispers, the waver back in her voice. "Is Gran going to be okay? That woman wants to kill him..."

Catalina spares Lyria a smile and a glance. "Of course he'll be okay. Don't be scared. We can get him out of here."

"I don't like this casino anymore, Catalina."

"I don't either," Catalina agrees, refraining from mentioning she had _never_ liked it. She drums her fingers against the black rock, watching Gran slowly nod off and then snap awake as he listened to the details of how his soul would rot for all eternity in the pits of the volcano, and hell, where the devil wouldn't kill them because he'd be killing Gran again. Catalina personally thought he deserved a bit more burning than that for dragging them into this mess (with no sign of any stones).

Gran burning in pits did give Catalina an idea for a distraction. A hellish one.

"Lyria, can you do something brave for me?" she asks. Lyria takes a big gulp of air, clenches her hands into fists, and nods vigorously.

Catalina smiles. "You can still summon Lucifer, correct?"

-

Lyria could very much summon Lucifer.

As the large, brilliant fallen angel fills the room above the sacrificial chamber, the hooded members scream and scatter, a few running face first into each other and falling over unconscious. The tattooed woman collapses to the ground, shouting curses between prayers and attempts to summon her own dark creature from the volcano.

Catalina and Lyria slip down the dark path, dodging behind large rocks and old sacrificial beds set in storage on their way to Gran. Their pace is slow, and deliberate, but Catalina thinks everyone's so distracted by the bright light, their own screaming, and evil angel floating above them they wouldn't have noticed had she been dressed as flashy as Gran.

Motioning to Lyria to stay behind a rock and keep up the summon, Catalina slips the final few feet behind Gran's sacrificial bed. The tattooed woman is so dead set on praying that she hasn't noticed Catalina sneak up. Gran hasn't seemed to notice her either, and as she draws her sword to cut his bonds, she hears his muttering.

"Can't believe this... waste of my time... ruining my suit... bingo games to win..."

Catalina feels her eye twitch. She is _so_ getting Rakamu to ground him when they get back.

With a slice of the first bond, Gran yelps, and Catalina quickly cuts the other three away. Gran slides with a thud down onto his knees, and Catalina rounds the bed (on the opposite side where the tattooed woman kneels and yammers) just in time to see Gran faceplant onto the volcanic rock. He peels himself up, dazed, and blinks at her eight times before he seems to recognize her.

"What happened to my winnings?" he asks. Catalina rolls her eyes, grabs his arm, and runs.

She picks up Lyria along the way, and together the three of them run back up the path. Lucifer still hovers above. He yawns, and three people scream. Lyria gives a wave of her hand, and Lucifer dissipates into a beam of light, incinerating the remainder of the people in the room. There's no trace of the black hoods, the tattooed woman, or Gran's sacrificial bed anywhere. The best solution to any problem, in Catalina's mind.

Luckily for Gran, his winnings are safe, and he throws himself over them sobbing. Lyria and Catalina high five, and Catalina switches the sword between her hands as she starts up the rest of the path.

Noises on the other side of the door greet her ears, along with the telltale clang of someone picking a lock very terribly. She stops so suddenly Lyria walks into her back with an oof.

"We need another way out," Catalina says. "We can't fight our way clear through the entire casino." 

"There's another path off the far side of the chamber!" Lyria suggests. "I saw it when you cut Gran loose!"

Catalina nods. "Let's go then."

Not bothering to wait for Gran to stop crying, she picks up both him and his bag under her one arm, carrying her sword in the other. Gran protests, mostly about his future dry cleaning bill, and hangs otherwise limp. They set off at a run back down the path, crossing the chamber, Lyria leading the way up a dusty set of wooden stairs to an old archway.

On the other side of the archway is a labyrinth of mine cart tracks. An evil purple light bathes the room. At least ten different paths originate just inside, with three rickety mine carts coated in dust, just _waiting_ for someone to get in them so they can break. The tracks twist off into the darkness, faint lights flickering in the distance, showing how deep the cavern goes. Catalina feels unease settle in the pit of her stomach. As if she hadn't been right too many times today.

She lurches and hefts Gran and his coins unceremoniously into one of the carts. He lets out a yell, then a whimper. Catalina has a hard time feeling sorry for him as she turns to Lyria.

"We haven't much time, and this seems to be our only chance. I can only pray they don't follow us, or they can't track our path. Lyria, I'll-"

"Why don't we just use that exit right there?" Lyria asks, pointing behind Catalina's head.

Catalina turns. A ten-foot high door sits behind her. The purple glow seems to not be from something evil, but from the neon sign above it stating 'You are now leaving... the Casino of Doom!'.

It takes Catalina a few moments of blank staring to nod her head. "Good idea, Lyria. Let's just use that exit right there."

Gran peeks out the lip of the mine cart. "Can you give me a hand? I can't lift the coin bag over my head."

This time Lyria helps him haul the giant bag, and within moments, all three of them are through the exit into the clear air of the outdoors. Catalina wedges a stick to keep the door from opening again, aligning herself with the stars in order to navigate back to the airship.

"That way's north west. We'll head back to the ship and completely avoid the casino," Catalina says. She takes a deep breath and rounds on Gran, who is practicing lifting the bag in his arms (and huffing with strain).

"Gran, what on _earth_ were you thinking wasting your time gambling when we had to find the stones?" she yells. "Now how are we going to complete the mission!"

"Oh. Right. About that. I made it up," Gran says, between clenched teeth. "I knew you'd never let me go here otherwise. But with these extra coins, I can trade for a new party member! Totally worth it, right?!"

He dumps the bag on the ground, twirls, and gives a signature thumbs up Superstar pose and grin. Catalina feels her eye twitch. He made it up. Her entire evening, risking Lyria and wasting time, for nothing. Nothing but Gran's desire to go to the sketchiest casino in the world. Under her dark stare, Gran's grin wavers. She sheathes her sword. He takes a step backwards. She cracks her knuckles. He whimpers.

Catalina grabs Gran by the neck and shakes him like a rooster, as Lyria cheers beside them. It isn't until they hear the thudding at the door behind them that Catalina drops Gran like a sack, picks up his coins, and starts on the five minute walk back to the airship. Gran gurgles to life behind them, rubbing his neck and muttering about how many more coins he could have won if he hadn't been interrupted.


	3. Gran Jones and the Last Job Class

Gran knew he should have never travelled with Djeeta. Never, ever, _ever._

It had all started so promisingly. Sierokarte had shuffled them all inside their tent at the same time as Djeeta's party arrived. In order to prevent them from killing each other in their shop for the second time that week, Sierokarte sat both Gran and Djeeta down and pulled out a journal, detailing the legend of the final job class that a party leader could obtain, and how only through their combined strengths could either hope to get it.

The legend of the Messiah class. The ability to revive not only your comrades, but your own self throughout battle, ensuring no game overs and the fastest way to grinding and gaining levels. The powerful Holy attack. The Grail you needed to drink from to obtain it. It was all very mystical, and honestly, Gran only really cared about the "infinite grinding" bit. 

They took Djeeta's fire team, as well as Gran's team of "no one else would come with me besides Rakamu, Oigen, Lyria and Welder". Her skills as a Gunslinger saved Oigen's ass more times than Gran could count. And he, of course, as a grand Assassin, saved them all the trouble of various rare encounters through his skillful techniques and stealthy demeanor.

But, despite traversing through churches and libraries and sewers together, it was still Djeeta. Gran had every intention on ditching her in a cave somewhere and stealing her LB mats before booking it to the location of the last job class alone. This, he reflects, as he stands inside a massive temple in the middle of a desert, was a genius plan. Djeeta had just been the one to execute _her_ genius plan first. 

Hers involved less caves and LB mats and more "rounding Gran's party up on their horses and threatening them at gunpoint to follow her commands and blindfolding them the rest of the way to their current location in a mysterious temple". Gran stands, a bit sweaty and very dusty, between Oigen (cracking his ancient back) and Welder (mourning the loss of trees). Lyria and Rakamu stand a bit to the side, huddled close together. 

Yuel, on Djeeta's orders, waits nearby, blades in hand, occasionally making threatening gestures and watching Welder shriek in fear. Djeeta and the remaining members of her awful, wonderful fire party are examining the inner door of the temple, covered in cobwebs.

"Well," Oigen says, straightening, "this sucks ass."

Gran pinches the bridge of his nose. "Wow, no shit. When'd you figure that one out, Oigen? Before or after you threw out your back?"

"Hey-"

"Not to interrupt," Welder interrupts, "but has anyone else noticed there are _no trees_ in the temple?!"

"Gee, maybe because this is a desert?!" Gran snaps. He cracks his knuckles and mentally preps to assassinate Welder. When he launches out his deft, manly fingers to grab Welder and throttle his scrawny neck, his hands are blocked by a large, armor clad chest, and a big annoying laugh. He tries not to shake out his hand as his fingers squelch uncomfortably.

Rakamu.

"C'mon guys, we can't fight between each other right now!!" he says, throwing back his head and giving another laugh. Gran deadpans at him. Oigen looks confused. Welder tries to subtly wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. Lyria pops her head under Gran and he puts down his arms around her shoulders (for now). "We're here to get the last job class for Gran, right? This is just a bit of a roadblock!"

"She took all our weapons and supplies, set Yuel on us, and is presently throwing rocks into the sketchy cobweb entrance over there," Gran replies. He pets Lyria's head like a cat.

"That's not the worst thing!"

"Rakamu, they're writing your name on the rocks."

That gives the older man pause, and he narrows his eyes in the distance just in time for Djeeta to write the final character in his name and launch the rock in. There's a sickening grinding noise, and shrapnel of rock comes flying back out at record speed.

Everyone in both parties dodge except for Oigen. He gets struck right between his good and bad eye and collapses, howling, onto the ground. Everyone shrugs. 

"Huddle up," Gran hisses as Djeeta turns back to her party. Welder sniffles as he gets closer. Rakamu keeps craning his head to look at the rocks. Lyria's stomach growls. Oigen howls more on the floor, and they don't invite him up for the huddle. Gran gives a casual glance at Yuel (picking dirt under her nails with her blades) before he knows it's safe to speak. "We just need to turn the tables on these assholes. I've got a plan. First of all, we need to take Welder, and throw him right at Djeeta's face. When she's distracted, we-"

"Gran, Gran, Gran, that's such a _terrible_ plan."

Djeeta's high-pitched, scathing, sarcastic voice filters through his ears. Gran wrinkles his entire face into a mask of disgust as he pulls his way out of the huddle, his party breaking up as he does. "Djeeta. It isn't polite to eavesdrop." 

"I'm not polite," she drones in reply. She crosses the foyer towards them. Percival flanks her one side, Mary the other. "And anyway, it's time for you to serve your only purpose on this mission. Getting me my Grail."

She gestures to the cobweb hell behind her absently, as if Gran and the others hadn't noticed it before. "From the journal Sierokarte loaned us, we know it's through there, and there are four trials to face. _Deadly_ trials. I don't fancy getting a game over this close, so I'll be sending you through first to disable them. I'll even let you get the job class as well, Gran. As a special treat...if you survive."

Tempting, but considering what happened, like, an hour ago, Gran isn't about to believe she's being honest. "Or I could just not help you and watch you get a game over and then get the job myself," he retorts. "Seriously, what makes you think that I'm going to help you just cause you kidnapped me?"

"This!" Djeeta yells. She whips out a gun, and before Gran can blink, she's pulled the trigger. The air rips open with the shot. Lyria's hands fly to cover her ears. Gran braces for the pain of impact, letting his eyes close tight. 

After a second, he realizes he feels fine. And then comes the most pitiful yelling and wailing imaginable coming from a grown man's mouth. 

Gran opens his eyes. Welder has collapsed, blood gushing out of his chest. He keeps applying pressure. Oigen (since recovered from his own injury), Rakamu, Gran and Lyria all stare at his writhing body, slowly being covered in dust and sand the more he flails on the ground.

"Woe, woe is my heart!" Welder cries. "To be shot - to die in a place such a this! Alone, without trees, without the sweet breath of the forest to caress my soul into the afterlife!"

Gran turns to Djeeta, blankfaced. "Thanks a lot. Now we have to listen to this crap."

Djeeta blinks. "Don't you care he's dying?!"

Gran shrugs. "No."

"But! You have to save him! You need to get the Messiah for both of us or else Welder will-"

"Yeah, I don't actually care if he dies," Gran replies. He checks his nails. "Actually, I think I prefer it this way."

"It's not that big of a loss," Oigen comments. "It's not like he does anything."

"He _is_ pretty loud," Rakamu hums. 

"Betrayal!!" Welder yells. He raises a bloody finger at his party. "In this hellish place, I should have know, should have guessed! You would all betray me as I- gah!!"

Gran hammers his heel into Welder's injury to shut him up. Djeeta nearly drops her gun, and her eyes widen to the size of plates. She looks over at her party, desperate, and Gran can't help but smirk at her ruined plans.

Then Djeeta crosses the remaining space and grabs Lyria by the arm. She hauls the small girl back, where Percival grabs her. Gran, Rakamu, and Oigen all launch forwards. Mary holds up a gun to the corner of her head and they stumble to a stop, Rakamu crashing into Oigen and both of them toppling to the ground. Lyria sticks out her tongue, twists and turns, stomps Percival's foot, and cannot escape.

"Now," Djeeta says, "if you-" 

"Let her go _right_ now!" Rakamu yells. He scrambles to his feet with tight fists clenched.

"I-"

"You'll regret this," Oigen mutters, cracking each finger in turn as he straightens. "Oh, you'll regret this."

Djeeta huffs. "Will you let me fini-"

"I am personally," Gran mutters, his bangs covering his hair in the dark, ominous way he gets when he listens to sad music at 3am, "going to rip out your guts for this, Djeeta. I am going to murder your entire family. I am going to sell your pets to the pound. I am going to deface your tombstone and-"

Djeeta fires three shots into the air over them and they all cover their heads. Oigen whimpers.

"As I was saying!" she snaps. "If you don't go get the Messiah job class, I'll have Mary kill Lyria. How's that for a fair bit of motivation, Gran?"

Gran balls his hands into fists as his vision blurs with anger. "If you hurt her, Djeeta-"

"Go get the job, Gran, and you won't have to worry. Have fun."

Djeeta takes a step back and bows - bows! - out of the way for him. Gran has half a mind to throttle her anyway, but Mary's finger is way too close to the trigger. He gives Lyria an 'Are you okay' look, which she nods bravely through. He also shoots her a 'dear god, when we get back, don't tell Catalina' look. She gives another nod, but tilts her head in a 'you owe me dinner' kind of way. Her knees shake, but her eyes are determined.

Gran is so getting Djeeta back for this.

He walks towards the cobwebs when he feels a hand on his shoulder. Rakamu's face is hard, sturdy, the kind of distant and serious expression he gets before he ruins it by talking. 

"I'll come with you, Gran," he says. He gives a wink. "We're still a team! Besides, I remember bits and pieces of that journal. I can help you get through. We can save Lyria together."

Gran nods, though of course, he totally remembers the entire journal himself already, in his infinite wisdom. Or, he would, had he actually bothered to read it.

Oigen coughs. "I'll stay here and, uh, watch Lyria! To keep her safe!"

Gran glares over his shoulder. "You just don't want to do any work, do you?"

"Oh no! My back!" Oigen yells, in a cry so fake even Mary and Percival rolls their eyes. He clutches at his lower back, slowly lowering himself to the ground beside Welder (who wimpers and writes his will in his own blood beside him). "I'm just too decrepit... go on in my stead..."

"After I kill Djeeta, you're next," Gran mutters. He and Rakamu walk their way towards the cobwebbed entrance, when a realization hits him. He rubs the back of his neck.

"Say, Rakamu?"

"Hm?"

"Isn't it my dad supposed to be the one who gets shot? So, like, in this case, you? As my real father, the man who left me, the man who I-"

Rakamu lets out another hearty laugh. He slaps his knee with one hand and Gran's back with his other. "What a joker you are, Gran! No one would read a fic like that! Ever! Now come along! The cobwebs await." 

**Trial One: The Cobwebs Await**

Gran stares at the mess of cobwebs in front of him, toeing the line between the sweet, spiderless air and the gross mass of white disgusting tendrils awaiting him and Rakamu. He thinks about the terrible _something_ waiting inside for them that's strong enough to shatter thrown rocks. He kicks away a skull or two as he hovers. Gross. Disgusting.

He's making Rakamu's go in first.

"Say, Rakamu," he says in his sly, assassin refined baritone voice, "you read the journal. How about you lead this one?" 

Rakamu, thankfully, is a giant idiot, and just nods like it's the best suggestion Gran's made since he asked him to go out in the middle of a snowstorm for a new wind harp. "Sounds like a great plan, Gran! What'd I'd expect from our leader!"

"Yeah, I know, I rock," Gran replies. He starts to shove Rakamu's arm. "Chop chop, no time to waste!"

"You know, Gran," says Rakamu, talking despite cobwebs pressing into his every face orifice, "the journal said that 'only a penitent man can pass'."

"I don't even know what that word means," Gran yawns. He follows into the Rakamu shaped hole in the cobwebs, casting one final glance back at the group. Percival and Yuel playing rock paper scissors (evilly). Mary and Djeeta chatting with Lyria (evilly). Oigen starting to stand up straight, but, catching Gran's eye, throwing himself on the ground in the throws of fake pain (pathetically). Welder might already be dead. Gran doesn't care to check.

Instead, he listens as a strange whirring noise starts the moment he enters fully behind Rakamu. The older man is still muttering the line to himself, as if the phrase holds some kind of cryptic code. Gran is _pretty damn sure_ the whirring is only getting louder. 

"Do you not hear that?" he hisses. Rakamu, slowly turning cobweb white ahead, doesn't even hear Gran's question. The sound is oddly familiar, like something he's heard before near Vira. The whirring only continues to get louder and faster, and when a high-pitched screeching noise chimes in, he realizes what's making the sound.

Unfortunately, he realizes they're saw blades the same moment they spring out from the walls at neck level. His leg flies out and he kicks Rakamu straight in the ass, causing the old man to fall, as if kneeling, out of harms way. That doesn't solve the problem of the blades two inches from his own neck, and Gran does something he never thought he'd do in his life.

He pulls out a red crystal mat he hid from Djeeta in the multiple folds and layers of his ridiculous outfit. He shoves it in the gap between the incoming blade and his tender throat flesh. The saw blade grinds into it, churning, pressing the red into his throat. Gran squeezes his eyes shut.

A huge clanking noise, followed by a shatter and a lack of pressure on his neck alerts him he's alive. The saw blade has come to a standstill, half the teeth missing on the blade, and... and on the floor... the shards of his precious, last LB mat. 

Rakamu, a few feet ahead, sits up and rubs his ass. "Wow Gran, you've got quite a leg on you!" 

Gran collapses to his _own_ knees and cups the loose powder in his hands. He lets the tears fall from his eyes freely. Snot bubbles in his nose. He lets out a huge, wailing sob. 

Then he accidently inhales a cobweb and chokes.

**Trial Two: A tree by any other name**

Gran's eyes are still puffy and the cobwebs are still on his tongue by the time they make it to the next trial. Rakamu waves a hand for Gran to come forward. He does, and tries not to sniffle, as Rakamu gestures to the floor ahead. The floor is covered in the alphabet, each letter on an individual stone tile. Numerous Es litter the area.

"The journal spoke of this," Rakamu mutters. "I believe the phrase was, 'spell the name of the mightiest tree, ere the other side you see'."

Gran feels his shoulders slump forwards. "I hate trees. Ever since Welder made up that two hour song about them, I've repressed everything I ever knew about them."

"I can't even read these letters," Rakamu notes. "I only know Japanese."

"What tree even counts as the 'mightiest'?! All trees are the same damn thing."

Rakamu and Gran both hold their chin, both shift and rub the back of their neck, both turn at the same time to look at each other as the same thought crosses their mind. Maybe Welder was actually good for one thing in his entire life, and they couldn't even get him to do it. What a horrible guy.

Gran cracks his knuckles. "We'll brute force it. How many possibilities can there even be?"

He shifts his weight, grabs Rakamu's arm, and throws the man on the nearest letter (an L). The effort pulls every single muscle in his body. Gran clutches at his chest, the effort of throwing a man in armor too much for his body. The letter, meanwhile, immediately cracks apart, and Rakamu's flailing arms just barely manage to grab the side. He yelps. Gran takes a moment to sit down and pant as Rakamu hauls himself back to his feet.

"There's spikes down there," Rakamu yells. "I lost my cigarette!" 

Gran wheezes a reply he hopes sounds like 'I don't care'. From Rakamu's improperly sagely expression, he's guessing the idiot misinterpreted it.

"You're right Gran, I will have to be faster," he murmurs. 

Gran lies on his back and stares at the ceiling, listening to the air fill with Rakamu's incredibly high pitched screeches and the continuous sound of crashing rock as he runs the entire distance of the field. Sometimes, he's glad he's surrounded himself with a team of idiots. Not only do they make him look even more intelligent than he already is, it spares him throwing out his back chucking Rakamu across the field like he's Oigen or something. 

"Gran! I did it!"

Gran sits up. Rakamu's left arm is gushing and he's lost both of his boots. There are dings in his armour that will never come out. His hair smokes, like he's been on fire. He's covered in cobwebs and dirt. He makes jazz hands as he steps aside to reveal... a path leading exactly down the center. 

"Who would have guessed it was that easy!!" he laughs. "Come along Gran! We've got two most tests two pass!"

Instead of waiting for Gran to get to his feet, he walks back and slings him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Gran grunts at the sharp shoulder plate digging into his abdomen, Rakamu's smelly burnt hair filling his nose. 

The three large stones left spell 'oak'. Gran thinks that's one of those trees with pinecones. 

**Trial Three: The Path of God**

"This is just a fucking canyon," Gran huffs. 

Indeed, before them stretches a canyon, with a small, taunting door on the other side of the massive crater. The canyon is so deep Gran has a feeling he'd die of old age long before he hit the bottom. He can see streaks of blood along the side where people must have cried red tears not knowing how to solve this damn puzzle.

But then he thinks of Lyria, and how Catalina will jump down the canyon and kill him herself if he fails to save her. He grits his teeth. _Okay, Gran, just remember, this is all for the last job class and her._

"What did the journal say?" Gran hisses. The air shoots from between his closed teeth like the high-pitched wail of the saw blades. 

"It, uh, said to trust and have faith and venture forth," Rakamu mutters. His arm still gushes blood. "Gran, please don'-t"

But Gran does. Instead of throwing Rakamu, which turned out to be a bad idea, he instead knees him in the back of the leg and shoves. Rakamu yelps and topples face first into the canyon.

Or, as Gran suspected, he lands on something very solid. Gran crouches, and like a genius, he just checks the side of the outcropping they stand on. A piece of rock juts from it, hidden from most angles, spanning the entire length of the canyon. Rakamu's hands twitch on either side of it. Gran walks over him and towards the other door without looking back.

**Trial Four: The Final Countdown**

Gran and Rakamu walk side by side into the final room, which, dear god, is full of cups.

Floor to ceiling, wall to wall cups, with tiny rows between them for people to walk through. In the center of the room, with cups scattered by the base, is a well. The well is also in the shape of a cup. The water inside it is probably also actually a cup. Rakamu sneezes, and cups from the top of every column fall over, and to Gran' horror, fall in the shape of another cup.

Gran is just beginning to realize he is so out of his league screwed and he should've stuck to being an assassin when a man appears from between the columns. Hunched, white haired, splotched and leathery skin covered in wrinkles. He's so ancient Gran thinks he might be Oigen's age. The man has a long, thin beard, a long, worn robe, and beady little dark eyes that are wide in shock. 

"Who are you?" he breathes, his voice as frail as his body looks. Gran thinks he's shaking (most likely in fear). 

Gran flourishes his cape behind him, dramatically putting his hand over his eyes and turning to the side. "I am the Master Assassin, the Greatest Archeologist, the skilled LB Hunter, Gran Jones. I've come to obtain the Grail and become a Messiah."

The old man nods, and Gran fears the action will cause his head to fall off. "Then, you must pass the final trial. You must find the Grail yourself, somewhere in this room. If you fail to drink from the right cup, dire consequences await."

"So I'll die," Gran says flatly. "Great. Wonderful. I should keep a tally of how many times I've faced death today."

"Can you give us a hint?" asks Rakamu. 

"That is against the rules," the old man replies. He begins to cough, the strain of talking too much for him. He forms a seat out of a pile of golden chalices and sits there, holding his heart. He keeps his tiny beady eyes on Gran the whole time.

With one hand on his chin and the other on his waist, Gran surveys the room again. He'll need all his sharp assassin intelligence to get through this trial. Maybe if he just knocks all the columns into each other, or starts a fight ring to find the strongest, or-

"Well, Gran, thank you _so_ much for all the help so far!"

Gran and Rakamu whip around. Djeeta stands in the entranceway. Yuel is at her side, twirling her blades, with Percival already studying some of the cups in the rows closest to the doorfame. And then-

Lyria, still alive, in Mary's tight grip. The gun's still there, but the girl seems content to let it rest there. Djeeta's given her a huge chicken thigh that she's almost completely demolished. If anything, Lyria looks content. Gran prays she's happy enough to forget to mention this little ordeal to Catalina. He will bribe her with anything to keep this quiet. 

"If all I need to do is find the right cup," Djeeta continues, her screechy voice so irritating even the old man covers his hears, "then it won't be a problem. I have excellent instincts."

She and Percival scan the room, rummaging around. Rakamu subtly slides over towards Lyria, and before long, the two of them are chatting about the trials like Mary's not behind them with a gun, listening to every word. 

Gran focuses his undivided attention on Djeeta, who's weighing two sippy cups between her hands. She puts them down to examine a large golden chalice, but then she ducks down another row and out of sight.

It's only a minute more before the room fills with her pithy, hyena laugh and her head reemerges from behind the row. She pulls out a cup with angel wing handles, gold and silver, with lapis lazuli and diamonds decorating the edges. It gives off its own light source, and Gran has to shield his eyes with his hand to make out the details. A faint choir can be heard in the distance, and the soft strings of a harp hover in the air. 

If that's not holy, Gran doesn't know what is. He hates Djeeta so much.

Without another word, she crosses to the cup well. She dips it in, and the choir gets louder, the harp more urgent, the old man's coughs interrupting like some strange beat. It seems it is full of water, as the liquid pours out the sides. Djeeta raises the cup to the sky and takes one long drink.

She sets it down and turns. "There you go, Gran, it seems- guh!"

Djeeta clutches her chest, her knees buckling. The choir is gone, the harp gone, the old man's coughing... well, that's still there, but Gran didn't expect that one to change. She sputters, moans, and when her body hits the floor, she disappears into thin air.

Gran _grins_. 

There's no time to celebrate, as this is going to be the only chance they get to break free. He nods to Rakamu, who nods in return, and Gran hopes that mean he has a plan. Lyria braces her knees, shifts her arms, and throws Mary clean over her head into a row of cups. The redhead crashes and the sound of countless metal cups rattling to the ground fills the air. Rakamu's behind Mary in an instant, wrenching the gun from her hand and firing three quick shots at Percival's head. Really, for a guy in so much armor, he should really invest in a helmet. He fades away with a confused expression on his face. 

"Gran!" Lyria calls. Gran nods and rushes over. He grabs her hand for a moment, giving it a squeeze, loaning his magic to her. She then puts her fingers together as her eyes flash. Leviathan curls in the air above them, hissing and writhing, sending a giant wave towards Mary and a very dumbstruck Yuel. Both fade away moments before the summon disappears.

This time, Rakamu lets out a huge whoop, and picks Lyria up in his arms for a spin. They high-five and bonk heads, and even Gran feels himself straightening and grinning.

"Great plan Gran!" Rakamu laughs, clamping his free hand on Gran's shoulder. "A fearless leader to the end! I knew you'd get us out of that."

"Yes, I definitely planned all this to happen," Gran replies. "Now..."

All three heads turn. The old man is shuddering on his seat, soaked from head to foot from Leviathan, cups littering the area around him from all the fighting. He looks about to cry as he reaches into his sleeve and pulls out a small wooden cup. 

"Here, just take it. Please take it and go," he whispers. "I have so much to clean..."

Gran doesn't need to be told twice. He rushes to the old man, grabbing the cup and shoving the old man into another row of them. The man whimpers as he goes down as more and more cups fall around him. Gran's at the well in seconds, downing a cupful of the most disgusting beverage he's ever consumed. It even tops Catalina's most recent attempt at soup, and _that_ had included strips of rubber and an entire bucket of paprika. 

He waits, feeling nothing at first, and he's about to yell at the old man for tricking him when he feels the familiar tickle and sensation of the job class settles on him. He feels the JP leave his body, he feels the flash of golden light, and when he looks down, he's decked out in some sweet flowing white robes, tied at the waist with a rope belt. He has sandals on his feet and a crown on his head. He turns to Rakamu and Lyria, who both shoot him thumbs up.

"Please," the old man whispers, cutting right into Gran's great plan to brag about this, "please, can you all just leave my temple now?" 

-

"Welder died," Oigen says the moment the three of them reappear at the entrance to the temple. "I didn't think it was worth rushing after you guys to say anything about. Oh, congrats on getting the job class."

"It wasn't even worth reporting now, 'cause I'm still not reviving him, Messiah or not," Gran replies. There's a Welder shaped outline on the floor, with a giant will rambling around it, along with a very detailed depiction of one of those pinecone trees Gran is still pretty sure is called an oak. It seems Welder's left every object he owns to various trees across various islands. Pointless. Gran is never going to them. "Really, Oigen, you've been useless as hell this entire trip. I'm cutting your salary."

"I don't get paid..."

"Now you're gonna have to pay me to stay, then," Gran huffs. "Come along and saddle up. We're going back to the ship."

"Where's Djeeta and her party, Gran?"

Gran fixes Oigen with a 'if you ask one more question I am killing you too' look, and the old man shuts the hell up for once. Lyria giggles into her hands, walking over to Oigen to explain how awesome she was. It's only a few more minutes before the four of them are on horses, heading out into the desert. 

"So, Fearless Leader," Rakamu says, guiding his dapple grey horse along side Gran's majestic black stallion (okay, so the horse had been Percival's before, but screw it, he looks _so_ cool right now). "What way back to the ship?"

Gran pauses. He blinks. He twists in his saddle, taking in the endless sand and stone for miles in each direction, none of it looking remotely familiar. He also tries to avoid looking at the sight of Rakamu's still shoeless feet. He thinks back to coming into the temple, and all he can see is the inside of a cloth. Right. They'd all been blindfolded.

"I... I have no idea where we are or where the ship is."

Rakamu nods. "What do you want to do?"

"Lead us out of here with my innate natural instincts, of course."

That earns him a laugh and a hearty back slap that nearly knocks him off of his horse. He tightens his grip on his reins and turns his stallion towards the sunset and into the wind. If he's going to get lost, he might as well look damn cool doing it. 

He is, after all, Gran Jones.


End file.
